


More Practice

by grey2510



Series: Misc SPN One Shots (<10k words) [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s11e11 Into the Mystic, F/M, M/M, Post-Series, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5861056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does Sam keep sneaking out of the bunker? Dean'll kill him if he's planning something again...</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Practice

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of a follow up to ["Practice"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5843929), but each could be read as one-shots.
> 
> A note on the ASL: I don't speak ASL (I know the alphabet and like 4 signs, none of which are at all helpful), but I do know that ASL is not the same as directly signing/translating English. However, for the ease of reading, I've written the sign language parts as they would probably be translated/interpreted in English. I hope this doesn't bother any native speakers of ASL.

“I’m going for a run,” Sam announces to Dean, who is nursing a coffee at the kitchen table.

Dean’s about to make some crack about his brother’s obnoxious health-nut ways, but instead frowns when he sees the keys in Sam’s hand.

“I’m no expert,” he drawls, “but I’m pretty sure running doesn’t involve a car.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replies with a distinct lack of bitchface; if Dean were a dog (again), he’s fairly certain his ears would have perked up at the startling omission. “There’re some good trails about ten, fifteen minutes away. Tired of running the same loop around Lebanon, you know?”

Sometimes Dean wonders how the two of them are related. “Whatever. You’re not taking Baby, though.”

Aaand there’s the bitchface. “Fine. I’ll take that junker truck we picked up last week.”

“Attaboy, Sammy,” Dean says, clapping his moose of a brother on the shoulder on his way to get a refill. And with that, Sam takes off, and Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the impending headache.

As soon as he’s sure Sam has left the bunker, Dean pours the coffee into a travel mug and makes his way to the garage. Mostly, he wants to just crawl into bed and try to catch up on sleep, but this is more important.

Ever since their jaunt to Hell—because only in their lives is that a legit thing—the nightmares have come back. His own time in Hell. Losing Sam to Lucifer. All of it, on endless replay. Then came the banshee case and on top of that, his subconscious has added a new loop: that there’s something wrong with Cas, Mildred’s parting words…

And what the fuck _is_ wrong with Cas? Dean knows the guy’s been shaky ever since Rowena’s spell, and he’s sure going to the Cage did him no favors, but there’s just something...off. It’d taken a lot for Dean to finally come clean about all the bullshit with Amara, the weird, sickening pull he feels to her, and when Dean didn’t deny Cas’ suggestion that there was an attraction, the angel had given this look of pity? condescension? Dean feels shitty enough as it is; he hadn’t needed that from Cas. Or how about his supposed words of comfort (not that Dean needed comfort; he’s not a fucking child, thank you very much), that they could use this bond between him and Amara to draw the bitch out? _Yeah, thanks Cas, I’d love to be bait. Sign me the fuck up._ Whatever happened to having each other’s backs? To...caring...about what happens to each other?

So with all this on his mind, sleep has been fitful at best, and now Sam’s been sneaking off the past few days. Trips to the store to pick up supplies (when they’re pretty well-stocked), going to the library at the local college (despite the fact that the bunker’s library is way better), needing a car to go on a run (and seriously, why run unless something’s chasing you?)...

Dean hates himself for trailing his brother, but the last time Sam started pulling this kind of crap, it was so that Rowena could translate the Book of the Damned. And look how well that turned out.

What surprises him is when he follows the GPS on Sam’s phone to Oak Parks.

Suddenly, Dean forgets all about his annoyance and worries and lack of sleep, and he revels in the thought of how much shit he’s going to give his brother, especially after all of Sam’s teasing about Mildred. Not that he doesn’t like Mildred—he has to admit, she’s pretty awesome, despite the flirting (and despite her “pining” comment...but that’s a can of worms he’s not opening right now). But if Sam makes one more _Golden Girls_ reference...

After parking in the side lot, Dean makes his way into the lobby where he’s greeted by the receptionist, who apparently remembers him as Agent Osbourne.

“Your partner’s already signed in,” she tells him as she gently pushes the sign-in book towards him.

“Right, thanks,” Dean nods, casually scanning the ledger as he hastily scrawls his own name. Well, his own alias.

Apparently, Agent Sam Butler has been here three times this week.

Since Dean can’t imagine who else Sam would be visiting, Dean heads towards the stairs to Mildred’s room, but is stopped when he hears a familiar deep laugh from a common living room off of the lobby. As stealthily as he can without looking like a total creep, he edges towards the open French doors, where he sees spiky blonde hair poking out over the top of an arm chair. Sam sits opposite, facing the door, but he’s so focused on whatever Mildred is doing that he doesn’t see Dean. Sam straightens up in his chair, then begins to sign, the movements slow and unsure. He stops after one sign in particular, his face tight with concentration.

“Close. It’s like this,” Mildred says, and Dean can only assume that she does a sign herself because Sam mimics it a moment later.

 _Sammy, Sammy, Sammy_ , Dean thinks with a smirk as he leaves.

Back in the Impala, he sits for a moment, staring off in the same direction as he and Mildred had sat and talked, though from ground level, the view is pretty unremarkable. When she’d asked him when he’d last enjoyed a sunset, he’d immediately pictured his perfect future: the Darkness gone, and he, and Sam, and Cas kicking back with a beer or two or twelve. And now he’s seen his brother here, learning sign language, and Dean’s surprised to find that he has no trouble picturing Eileen in that scenario with them.

And if in that distant, and frankly unlikely, future, Dean pictures each brother paired off, well, that’s nobody’s business but his.

 

~~~

         

Sam keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And not about the Darkness or Lucifer or Crowley or Metatron or one of the other issues they seem to be juggling these days.

No, he’s waiting for his brother, who typically has the maturity and restraint of a twelve year old, to start badgering him about Eileen and the sign language.

He knows Dean knows—maybe not about his trips to practice with Mildred, but Dean definitely knows about Sam relearning ASL. Dean had walked into his room a couple days ago while Sam was practicing by watching and mimicking tutorial videos, and other than the shit-eating grin his older brother had worn when he’d asked what Sam was up to, he hadn’t said much.

“Uh, so, I was thinking, after working with Eileen, that learning sign language might be a good idea,” Sam had responded. “You know, tactically. We’re not exactly always subtle on hunts. If we could communicate and coordinate non-verbally...”

“What, like the military hand signals?” Dean had agreed with a nod of his head. “Hmm. Not a bad idea.”

And that had been it. No teasing. No nerd jokes. No bluster about how the military code that Dad had drilled into them was good enough.

In fact, Dean had agreed to learn with him. And, Sam hates to admit it, but he’s been surprised at how quickly his older brother has picked it up. Then again, it doesn’t surprise him that Dean also gets frustrated more easily with it, and is more prone to talking and forgetting to sign.

But it all pays off during a run-of-the-mill vamp hunt, and the two perfectly coordinate their attack from opposite sides of the barn without disturbing the sleeping monsters.

“Man, we shoulda learned that years ago. Let’s go get a beer,” is Dean’s only comment as he wipes blood off his machete.

Sam doesn’t buy for a second that his brother thinks the sign language is only for hunting.

Meanwhile, Sam doesn’t call Eileen. She wouldn’t answer anyway. But he does text, and she responds. She tells him that she’s considering going back to school or getting a normal job, but she also can’t imagine leaving the hunting life. Sam understands completely.

His grin is wide when she texts him one day to say that she invested in one of those Apple watches. Being a loner, she’d never really had much contact via phone with people, but now she says she’s always annoyed when she misses a text. According to her, her old flip phone years ago had vibrated hard enough to set off mini-earthquakes, and so keeping it in her pocket had never been an issue. “They just don’t make them like they used to,” she’d sent. “Excuse the cliche.” With the watch, she can feel the vibration right on her wrist. “But it does look kind of douchey.”

Sam can picture her smile and shrug as she taps that last part out.

“Whatcha grinning about, Sammy?” Dean asks, plunking down a plate with a burger in front of Sam, then sitting across the table with his own plate.

“Nothing,” Sam answers, clearing his throat and putting his phone face down on the table.

“Who’re you texting?” Dean muffles around a mouthful of burger. At this point, Sam’s not even disgusted; he’s just immune.

“Uh, Jody,” Sam lies quickly. “She just wanted to know how we’re doing.”

“Oh.” Sam would swear his brother almost looks disappointed. “Was hoping maybe you’d heard from Cas. But how’s the sheriff?”

“All quiet on the Western front, I guess.”

“Good, good.”

Sam’s thankful that the burgers really are delicious and messy and prohibit much more talk.

 

~~~

 

As Dean munches on his burger, he notices Sam is eating with the same intensity and avoidance of eye contact that usually only Dean is capable of, and he finally realizes just how fricking annoying it can be. Not that he plans on stopping anytime soon. It’s a foolproof way out of chick-flick moments, and he’s long perfected it. Don’t fix what ain’t broke.

There’s a part of Dean that can’t decide what’s better: having dirt on his brother and ribbing him, or letting his brother sweat because Sam knows he has dirt on him but isn’t using it...yet.

Ah, brotherhood.

When Sam gets up to refill his glass of water, Dean quickly flips over his brother’s phone, confirming his suspicions. Two unread texts from one Eileen Leahy.

He has half a mind to text her for Sam since Sam’ll be a girl about it and won’t just ask her out.

 _Hey! Whaddya mean, “be a girl about it”, Winchester?_ Dean can practically hear Charlie chastise him in his mind.

_Fine, Sam’ll wuss out. Better?_

Charlie’s memory is quiet in the back of his head, so he figures she’s satisfied.

Christ, does he miss her.

 

~~~

 

The next time Sam bumps into Eileen, he literally bumps into Eileen. It’s not one of his prouder moments. To be fair though, when you live in a secret underground bunker, you don’t typically expect people right outside the front door when you go out for your morning jog.

Her dark hair rests softly on her shoulders, except for the strands that fly out in the breeze, framing her face, which is flushed slightly pink from the cold. Brown eyes shine in the morning sun.  

 _What are you doing here?_ he signs happily.

Eileen’s jaw drops until it breaks out into a huge smile, and Sam realizes that she had had no idea he’d been practicing ASL. He’d wanted to wait until he was sure he wouldn’t say something stupid—unlike the first time he’d tried to sign “thank you.”

_I wanted to surprise you. I found...in the journal..._

“Whoa, slow down,” Sam explains and signs at the same time. “I didn’t understand all of that.”

“I found the coordinates to the bunker in my grandfather’s journal,” she says and signs, emphasizing the sign for coordinates, correctly guessing which part had tripped him up. “I never knew what they were for until now.”

“Well, Eileen, Woman of Letters, welcome.” He holds open the door, and ushers her in. Just inside the doorway, she turns and puts a hand on his forearm.

 _Thank you,_ she signs.

Before he can reply, she takes her first look at the bunker, and her face is the epitome of shock. “All this?” she asks, and Sam nods.

“Hey, I thought you were going for a run,” Sam hears Dean yell from around the corner in the library. “Out of breath already?”

“Actually, we got company,” he calls back.

"Company? Is it C—Oh, hey Eileen,” Dean says as he rounds the corner.

“Hi, Dean. Nice place,” Eileen replies.  

“How are you?” Dean asks, signing along carefully as well.

“You both learned?” Eileen asks in wonder as they descend the stairs into the main part of the bunker.

Sam rubs the back of his neck a little sheepishly, hoping his brother will bail him out. And he does, eventually, after letting Sam squirm for a bit.

“Yeah, well, you’re a legacy. Welcome to the club,” Dean shrugs, as though they regularly learn new languages for long-lost Men of Letters “relatives”. “Sorry, I got no idea how to sign half of that.”

“It’s ok,” Eileen assures him. “It means a lot that you know some.”

“Sammy knows a lot more,” Dean teases. “And I’m sure he’ll want to show you _everything_ he’s learned.”

Aaand there it is. The other shoe.

“Shut up,” Sam responds.

“Never!” Dean grins. “Now, I’m gonna go do some work on Baby, and uh, you kids have fun _exploring_ the bunker.”

“Dean, if you’re feeling left out, I could go get Mildred...” Sam counters, earning him daggers from his brother, and a whack on the arm from Eileen.

“Hey, Mildred’s awesome. And who says I want to hang out with you?” Eileen says, raising an eyebrow. But, he can see the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.

“You’re right, that was mean. Mildred could do better,” Sam acknowledges, even though after several visits to Oak Parks to practice with the older woman, he knows Mildred wouldn’t take offense to the jest. “Guess Cas is your only option,” he adds, but he immediately regrets it.

Ouch. 0-2 on the jokes today.

Dean’s face darkens for a split second before he laughs, a little too nonchalantly. “Yeah, ha ha. Speaking of, dude’s still gone AWOL and isn’t responding. I’m telling ya, something’s off about him.”

“I know,” Sam nods grimly.

Eileen has simply been watching the exchange, but she breaks in with, “Who’s Cas?”

“Uh...that is a very long story,” Sam answers. “He’s a friend. C’mon, I’ll show you around and tell you all about it.”

This seems to snap Dean out of his funk, at least, and so they introduce Eileen to the world of the Men of Letters.

 

~~~

 

Dean had never wanted to do this job alone. True, it had taken some getting used to working with Sam again after the kid had been away at Stanford, but now he can’t imagine doing the job without him.

It was always them against the world, even though they’d managed to fit in some others into the their little circle over the years. Bobby. Ellen. Jo. Cas. Kevin. Jody. Charlie.

And now Eileen.

And she fits perfectly. Sure, it’d taken some adjustments to their hunting style—those weeks practicing ASL before she’d shown up to the bunker had certainly been worth it, but it’d taken a while to get into that mindset of having to sign or having to face her when speaking (Dean’s been subject to quite a few impatient reminders that she can’t understand him if she can’t see his lips, but he’s getting better).

But the best part is seeing how his brother lights up when he’s around her. All Dean’s ever wanted for his brother is for him to be happy, to have some semblance of normal. Sure, Eileen’s a hunter, too, but this is as normal as it’s ever going to get.

At first, he’d been worried it’d be awkward or that he’d constantly be the third wheel. Sam, the little shit that he is, had pointed out that he and Eileen couldn’t be any worse than all the UST he’d had to put up with over the years between Dean and Cas.

Dean had grumpily muttered, “ _You_ have UST with Cas...” before realizing that that was the exact opposite of what he wanted. Sam and Cas? Just. Ugh. No. Fuck no.

Luckily, this conversation had taken place long after they defeated the Darkness and kicked Lucifer to the curb (or Cage). Dean’s not even sure what he would’ve done if he’d finally decided to make his move only to find out he’d confessed to the fucking Devil.

For once, things had actually worked out.

 

 

They’re cruising down the highway, on the way back from a rugaru case in Nevada, and Dean’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror, where he finds Sam and Eileen signing in the backseat like little kids.

"...same six albums?" he catches Eileen signing in obvious amusement.

"You’re not missing much," Sam assures her.

“You better not be dissing my music, Sam,” Dean warns.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Sam answers cheerfully.

“Cas,” Dean says, chucking the angel on the shoulder. “I can’t sign and drive—translate for me. Tell Eileen how fucking awesome my music is.”

Cas side-eyes him, then turns in the passenger seat to face Eileen, saying and signing, “His music is enjoyable, if a little repetitive.”

“Wow, thanks for that ringing endorsement,” Dean deadpans.

“Of course. I do what I can,” Cas replies dryly, but they lock hands in the middle of the bench seat, and Cas squeezes gently and smiles.

“Told ya,” Sam shrugs to Eileen.

“See? Now you and Cas are just jealous you’re not deaf, too,” Eileen jokes, rather smugly. Sam chuckles and wraps an arm around her; Eileen leans in against his chest.

Dean thinks back to what Sam said a year ago, that maybe they could find someone who understands the life. At the time, Dean had scoffed. But now...

He glances down at his and Cas’ hands. He glances back again at his brother and Eileen.

This may have started out as just two brothers, crisscrossing the country, looking for their dad. This certainly isn’t what he would have pictured for himself in the future if someone had asked all those years ago.

But here they are. The four of them. Saving people. Hunting things. The family business.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


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